


Just Like Broken Glass

by tearxofink



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, And the song lyrics used in it are from Northern Downpour by P!ATD, Bittersweet ending also works, But now they don't, But there's also a sort of fluffy memory thing, But yes they did kind of inspire the plot but only if you squint really hard, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is famous, M/M, Maybe more ambiguous than sad, No I didn't write them, Roman performs a concert because he is famous, So both fluff and angst, So yes there is angst, The ending is kind of sad though, Virgil and Roman used to date, Virgil is not, Which causes some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 11:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tearxofink/pseuds/tearxofink
Summary: I had convinced myself that for whatever reason, I absolutely had to go to the Roman Prince concert that was at 10 o’clock tomorrow night. I had the ticket ready to be purchased and everything.At that point though, I decided it was high time to put a stop to my own insanity and threw my phone to the other side of the couch. I couldn’t possibly go to my ex-boyfriend’s concert tomorrow night, could I?Of course I couldn't. Even if it meant I'd never get to see him again, I was not going to subject myself to the screaming crowds and the worry that he'd see me and get angry and ruin his entire show.Perhaps I didn’t want to admit it to myself consciously, but I missed Roman. Very much. In all likelihood, this would be the last chance I’d ever have to see him.I'd have to pass on it though. It didn't matter how much I may have wanted it, I just couldn't do it.Virgil is happy on his own, so it's completely baffling to him when he starts debating whether or not he should purchase a ticket to his ex-boyfriend's concert. He shouldn't, of course, but Virgil is no stranger to doing things he shouldn't.





	Just Like Broken Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and edited this in like 24 hours for someone's birthday so,, idk what you should expect here. It's also my first time writing in first person since,, two years ago? Again. High expectations don't exist here.
> 
> Also: there are brief, very vague mentions of panic attacks, meds, and anxiety but again, it's barely there.

Shit. I should have known this was going to happen. I didn’t exactly live in the middle of nowhere, after all. Of course this would be one of his tour stops. Duh, Virgil.

Of course, this also had nothing to do with me. Duh again, Virgil. He didn’t even know that I lived here. He’d probably forgotten all about me, anyway. 

Forgotten or not, I couldn’t help but feel, as I always did, that his smile was meant just for me. Of course, this again wasn’t the case. His face was plastered all across the billboard, for Christ’s sake. He wasn’t smiling for me, he was smiling for the whole fucking world.

I refrained from throwing something at the brightly lit billboard because it would a) be an ill-fated action seeing as I was nowhere near athletic and b) it would have attracted so, so many stares and so, so many questions. I wanted neither, so I forced myself to walk past the billboard advertising a concert performed by my ex-boyfriend.

***

To be perfectly fair to Roman, he wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t a bad singer, either. In fact, quite the opposite was true in both regards. He had the voice of a siren and while his personality may not have been as fantastic, he was by no means the kind of person you would hate immediately after he opened his mouth. Well, at least _I_ hadn’t hated him immediately after he opened his mouth, and really, that was saying something.

I didn’t even really hate him. I kind of did, but it wasn’t because of anything he’d ever done or said. It was… complicated. It was also not something I particularly wanted to think on right now. I had so much else to do.

So when I got home, I expected to find myself working diligently, as I should have been. I did not expect myself to end up scrolling through concert times and ticket prices on my phone. I had to alter the production schedule for the next few days because one of the scenes we shot today took up too much time, I had to talk to the head of the hair and makeup department because she and her team had also taken up too much time getting the actors ready, I had to double check that we actually had enough time left in the schedule to finish shooting by out deadline— honestly, I had no idea why I’d ever wanted to be an assistant director. So much stress. So much anxiety. No time at all to be looking at concert times and ticket prices. Fucking time. The bane of my existence.

That didn’t stop me from continuing to scroll and procrastinate, though. By the time it hit 10 o’clock, the moon was shining and I had yet to do any of the things I’d planned to do when I got home. I had, however, convinced myself that for whatever reason, I absolutely _had_ to go to the Roman Prince concert that was at 10 o’clock tomorrow night. I had the ticket ready to be purchased and everything. 

At that point though, I decided it was high time to put a stop to my own insanity and threw my phone to the other side of the couch. I couldn’t possibly go to my ex-boyfriend’s concert tomorrow night, could I?

Of course I couldn't. Even if it meant I'd never get to see him again, I was not going to subject myself to the screaming crowds and the worry that he'd see me and get angry and ruin his entire show. 

Perhaps I didn’t want to admit it to myself consciously, but I missed Roman. Very much. In all likelihood, this would be the last chance I’d ever have to see him. 

I'd have to pass on it though. It didn't matter how much I may have wanted it, I just couldn't do it.

I kept the tab open for some reason, though. As if I'd change my mind. Maybe seeing him wouldn't be _terrible_ , but I wasn't going to. It would only happen in my dreams.

Alas, now was not the time to dream. I had schedules to type up and phone calls to make. This night would quite possibly be the death of me, as phone calls and staring strict deadlines right in the face were two of my least favorite things to do in the entire world. And I was already drained. 

I didn't even want to think about that ticket for fear that I'd change my mind. Did I SCREMwant to change my mind? I had no clue. I groaned. This was so complicated. I regretted every choice I’d ever made. 

With a sigh, I reluctantly opened my computer and prepared to face my demons. I could already tell that the regrets of life and tedious work were going to make this one looong night.

***

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I woke up the next morning on the couch with my computer lying on the table next to me, so it appeared that I had. Frantic, I sat up and checked the time on my phone. 8 am. Okay, maybe I was a _bit_ late, but honestly? It was a miracle that I hadn’t slept in until past midday considering how late I must have gone to bed.

Speaking of which- oh, good. At least I’d had the good sense to finish everything I’d had to before passing out. That meant less stress for me. Still a lot of it, plus copious amounts of anxiety, but less was always an improvement. 

I rubbed my eyes and swung my legs to the floor with only one thought on my mind: coffee. I absolutely could not function before I got my coffee. Other stuff could come later.

***

‘Other stuff” involved getting dressed, printing a few papers while I brushed my teeth, taking my meds so I didn’t have a full on panic attack later, and then literally running out the door. I was supposed to be on set at 8 am, but seeing as that was when I woke up, that wasn’t going to happen. The best I could do now was be as not-late as possible. 8:23 wasn’t _too_ long after 8, was it?

Thank god that the entire set was in utter chaos when I arrived. Normally, that would have terrified me, but today it served as a distraction as I merged effortlessly into the mess, otherwise known as a movie set. I could do this. I’d taken my meds this morning, I’d be fine. This was something I could handle.

So much as thinking about the concert tonight? That could be sorted confidently into the can’t-even-get-close-to-handling group. 

I shook my head, trying to ignore all the confusion I felt about the concert at least until I finished working. Then I could freak out all I wanted. 

Just ten more hours.

***

By the time four hours had passed, I’d pulled out my phone and debated buying a ticket no less than thirteen times. Each time, I reminded myself that there was nothing to be scared of. Roman wouldn’t even know I was there, and besides, this could be my very last chance to see him. Ever. Each time, I chickened out and put my phone back into my pocket. Each time, I was convinced I wouldn’t do it again. Each time, I was wrong.

After five hours, I’d done it twice more.

After six, I had weighed the pros and cons of not going to the concert a grand total of twenty-five times. 

After seven, I was positive that I wasn't going to go. I’d even started pondering which Netflix show I should watch.

After eight though, I’d nearly clicked the purchase button twice. It was then that I made the executive decision that I could not be trusted around my phone and locked it in one of the mini lockers reserved for the crew. That included assistant directors, right? Right.

Hour nine passed with two heart-stopping moments in which I forgot that I no longer had my phone in my back pocket. The moments both passed though, and I went back to debating with myself about the concert and trying to organize cameramen and costumes.

But then finally, finally, it had been ten hours. The director called a wrap on filming for the day and just like that, we were back on schedule. No more stress there. All that was left was decision-making-involving-the-concert stress. Three more hours before time ran out to purchase a ticket, then I'd lose my chance to see Roman Prince, live on stage. I tried to convince myself that I wasn't going to do it. 

It didn't work.

***

Those three hours seemed to both pass in the blink of an eye and last for an eternity. I didn't know if I wanted the clock to hit 9:00 in one second or one year. I don't think I would have been able to make the right choice even if I had an entire year to deliberate.

I spent the first hour and a half pacing the floor of my room, trying to convince myself that if I did _theoretically_ go, everything was not, in fact, going to fall apart and that it wasn't even possible for each one of the of things I was imagining to go wrong. I still wasn't convinced when the clock read 7:42, so I gave up then.

The next hour was spent sitting on the couch watching a movie I hardly cared about and trying to distract myself. It wasn't very effective. Clearly, because, you know, I'd bought the ticket. Yes, I had accepted that I truly represented the epitome of idiocy. And now I regretted everything I'd ever done in my entire life and my terrible ability to show restraint.

I had been such a dumbass, and now I couldn't even get a refund for the ticket. The purchase was ‘too last minute’ or whatever. I'd backed myself into the corner of regret and accidental ex-boyfriend stalking. I shut my eyes for a few minutes, trying to convince myself that really, this situation wasn’t _quite_ that bad. It really was a tragedy that I was wholly unsuccessful. And then it was hour three.

This would have been the last hour I could have purchased a ticket to the concert, but that was an irrelevant fact at this point. Now, I thought of it as merely the final hour before said concert. It was during this hour that it struck me that I was actually going to see Roman and couldn’t look like absolute trash. I scrambled to put together a presentable outfit that wouldn’t make it look like I was trying too hard, but also wouldn’t make me look like a raging human dumpster fire.

Twenty minutes went by before I decided that wearing an entirely different outfit was stupid and opted to merely take off my hoodie. A t-shirt was acceptable concert attire, right? Well, maybe not, but figuring out a different outfit involved too much thought, so I resigned myself to being underdressed and awkward.

I had planned to leave the house at 9:30, but by 9:03 I was already unbearably impatient. Besides, being early was better than being late, right? Right.

The walk to the concert hall took far less time than it should have. I wished I'd walked slower. I was here right now though, so it was sadly too late for that sort of wish. It was also too late to even think about backing out. I could have technically stayed home, but I wasn’t really one to waste money. That’s why I was currently hovering at the end of the line for the ticket counter, trying to convince myself that I would be fine. The butterflies in my stomach disagreed, but I ignored their input and continued standing stubbornly in the line.

I walked up to the person manning the ticket counter, stating my name. He checked the computer in front of him, then slid a single, life-changing slip of paper to me before tiredly calling out, “Next.” It struck me as odd that someone could be so blase about handing over something that seemed so important to me without even batting an eye. Such was the fate of all people: being devastatingly insignificant.

I turned away and was immediately hit with a wave of Roman’s merch. His face was quite literally _everywhere_ and I was sure it was making my face turn embarrassingly red. I truly didn’t want to be thought of as one of his superfans, though. Last I’d checked, I wasn’t a straight teenage girl. So I ducked my head, walking past the display and into the stadium where the concert was to take place.

Somehow, even with my insanely last minute purchase, I had managed to snag a floor ticket. I wasn't sure if I was glad for that or not, but it did mean that I'd have a pretty great view. It was really too bad that it also meant that there was a much higher possibility that Roman would be able to see me in the crowd. And also that there would _be_ a crowd—comprised mostly of teenage girls, probably—doing lots of pushing, shoving, screaming, singing, and other… concert things. I didn't really know, but that sounded about right. And not fun. 

But hey, at least I was going to see Roman one last time.

By the time I made my way to the floor, there was already a sizable crowd of, just as I'd predicted, giggly teenage girls. I already felt so out of place; a nearly thirty-year-old man at a concert who's audience was full of people who I would consider my polar opposite. I stayed near the back of the gradually forming crowd, figuring it was for the best anyway. I didn’t really want Roman to see me and have that be the reason the whole concert turned into a mess, and even if there was no way that that would happen, I wasn’t going to risk it.

Instead of standing and awkwardly staring, I chose to instead occupy myself on my phone. There wasn’t really anything happening, well, anywhere, but I wouldn’t have been able to process the information anyway. I was too high strung. 

Suddenly, the lights went dark with an audible click. I blinked, adjusting my eyes as I slid my phone into my pocket. At long last, the concert was starting, and I wanted to see every minute of it. Being distracted by my phone was not on the agenda for tonight.

I spotlight winked on in the center of the stage, illuminating a figure from behind. The stadium was filled with screams of excitement. The figure—Roman, obviously—stayed silent. I might have been imagining it, but I thought I saw the ghost of a smile on his face. We both knew that this was where he belonged. The fact that he was up there, being cheered on by thousands of people and looking completely at ease filled me with an odd sort of pride. 

I had missed him, after all. Even if he had probably moved on a million times more easily than I had, I was still glad I got to see him here one last time, perfectly at home. Surprisingly, I found that I didn’t regret buying that ticket so much after all.

It was at that moment that Roman started to sing. It was at that moment that the entire rest of the world disappeared. It was at that moment that I remembered in vivid detail exactly why I’d fallen in love with him. His voice was mesmerizing, enchanting, beautiful. I may not have loved him anymore, but damn. Past me had good taste.

Far too soon, the singing stopped and the cheers and the screaming and the crowds returned. I shuddered. I had been doing so well with blocking it out during the past few minutes, but, of course, I couldn’t ignore the rest of the world forever. I was back in the present, where I was currently being jostled to and fro as those around me tried in vain to get closer to the stage. They weren’t succeeding in doing anything but push me towards my doom, and I didn’t appreciate it. I tried to root myself in place and allow people to flow right on past me, but that didn’t appear to be working at all. In no time, it was me, and not them, at the very front of the crowd. I wanted to go back, back, back, all the way to where I’d been before, but that would be like swimming up the stream of a river filled with sharks. Not that that was actually possible because rivers consisted of fresh water and sharks needed salt water to live, but whatever. That hadn’t been a good metaphor anyway. Point was, I was stuck right in Roman’s line of sight.

For the entirety of the concert—ten beautiful, spellbinding songs with commentary in between that was so very Roman it made my heart ache—I stood at the front of the crowd, torn between utter panic and complete awe. The awe won out in the end. Turns out, I should listen to Roman’s music more often. Each time I grew uncomfortable with the press of other people’s bodies or the sheer amount of noise surrounding me, his voice and his music seemed to act as the calm eye of the storm known as the crowd. Again, I was reminded of why I loved him.

“It’s been wonderful playing for all of you, and I can’t thank you enough for coming out to see me tonight,” Roman was saying. That was my cue to leave, I thought. It may have been slightly rude to do so, but I didn’t want to be stuck in the rush to get out or risk running into Roman as I left. I tried my best to disappear back into the crowd, but that was a hell of a lot easier said than done. Each and every person in the crowd was still struggling to be as near to the stage as possible, and that left me with few openings to get through. All my pushing led to a few grumbles and a lot of apologies on my part. 

I’d long since tuned him out, so I hadn’t even noticed that Roman was still talking. But I did notice when he stopped. I froze along with his speech, as though caught in some heinous act. Slowly, I turned around, just to make sure that he wasn’t looking at me please don’t let him be looking at me-

He was looking at me. Right at me. Meeting my eyes kind of looking at me. With all the lights on him, I could almost pick out the individual gold flecks in his eyes. It was disorienting, to say the least. I’d paused my quest to push through the crowd and get out by that point. Instead, I was slowly dying as Roman stayed silent for what seemed like eons. Finally, he tore his eyes off of me and I felt myself relax. Maybe he hadn’t realized who I was. 

“Actually…” Roman began, a smile spreading across his face, “I think I’ll play you all one more song.” His announcement was met with deafening screams, but I was more focused on that smile of his than anything else. That specific smile meant that he was up to something. I’d seen it on his face whenever he thought of a particularly good lyric, usually one that he knew would make me blush. I knew it the way one will always know the quirks of someone they love. So, what was he planning now?

As if in answer to my silent question, Roman shot me a wink that left everyone in a ten-foot radius of me swooning. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t blushing as well. I don’t think there will ever be a day that Roman Prince won’t be able to fluster me. It was just the way we were; he was flirtatious and knew exactly what to say, and I couldn’t ever keep my composure when someone smiled and said hello. I didn’t like it, but it was just a fact of life.

Looking away for me and smiling out at the crowd, Roman said into his mic, “You’ve been such a great crowd, how could I not do something special for you?” That was met with more shrieks as Roman turned to say something to the musicians behind him, most likely to inform them about the song that they were going to play.

Then the thought crossed my mind: was he doing this for me? Wait, of course he was. It was only after he’d seen me that he’d decided to play this mystery song. If this was for me, well, I couldn’t leave now, could I?

I would stay a little while longer, just for him. I didn’t particularly want to shove my way back to the front of the crowd though, so I stood where I was, a few rows back from where I’d been.

Roman didn’t say anything more before giving the guitarist a signal. He began strumming and I felt my jaw drop open, my heart stop, and the butterflies that were ever present in my stomach go absolutely mad. I recognized those notes. That was _my_ song. The song he’d written for me. He’d never published it for whatever reason, and I never thought I’d hear it outside of my own head.

_“If all our life is but a dream_  
_Fantastic posing greed_  
_Then we should feed our jewelry to the sea_  
_For diamonds do appear to be_  
_Just like broken glass to me._

_And then she said she can’t believe_  
_That genius only comes along_  
_In storms of fabled foreign tongues_  
_Tripping eyes and flooded lungs_  
_Northern downpour sends its love.”_

And I was no longer at the concert. I was in the little studio apartment Roman and I had shared, three years ago.

***

_“Virge, I wrote something for you.”_

_“You did?” I asked absently, hanging up my coat on the rack before going back to rifling through the papers in my hands. I hadn’t gotten a second interview for any of the jobs I’d applied for that day. What had I said wrong? I glared at the resumé in my hand as though it personally was responsible for my lack of job offers. Maybe it was. I should fix it tonight._

_“Virgil,” Roman repeated._

_“Hm?” I looked up from the resumé in my hand as I set it on the table._

_“Did you hear what I said?”_

_“I… um.”_

_Roman sighed. “Do you want to hear the song I wrote for you?”_

_I couldn’t stop the frown that took over my face. I didn’t want to be rude, but I had so much to do. Even though I loved Roman, I just didn’t have the time. “Um,” I repeated, trying to figure out the least hurtful way to say this._

_Roman didn’t seem all that put off by my disinterest, thank god. “I don’t know why I asked, because I’m going to play it anyway.” That smile spread across his face as he looked down at his guitar. I liked to think of it as his creative-genius-mastermind smile, and each time I saw it, it terrified me in the best possible way._

_I really didn’t have time for this though. I made an attempt to protest. “I have to-”_

_“Shush. This won’t take long.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto the couch so I was facing him. Should I be upset that he shut down my protests just like that? Possibly. But that wasn’t what was on my mind as he began to play._

“Hey moon, please forget to fall down  
Hey moon, don’t you go down

Sugarcane in the easy mornin’  
Weather-vanes my one and lonely

The ink is running towards the page  
It’s chasing off the days  
Look back at both feet  
And that winding knee  
I missed your skin when you were east  
You clicked your heels and wished for me.”

_The song, the music, Roman’s voice; they were all lovely. But I couldn’t just sit here and listen to it. I had to fix my resumé, reprint it, and go back out for two more interviews. It didn’t matter how much I may have wanted to listen. I couldn’t._

_I tried to stop his singing by kissing him quickly and saying, “It’s beautiful, Roman, but I have to-”_

_“Yes, alright, do what you must. I’m still playing for you, though.”_

_“Sure,” I said, already getting up to grab my computer._

“Through playful lips made of yarn  
That fragile Capricorn  
Unraveled words like moths upon old scarves  
I know the world’s a broken bone  
But melt your headaches, call it home.”

***

Two weeks later, he broke up with me.

We hadn’t always been like that, all argumentative and such. Thinking back, it made me wonder what I could have done better. I could have listened, stopped ignoring him, stopped putting myself first so much. Roman deserved better than what I gave him.

With time and distance, I also understood that he should have listened to me too. I was working my ass off during those few months, going in for at least seven interviews a day, trying in vain to come up with enough money for us to even afford food. He could have gotten a side job or something, put down his guitar for even one minute-

I knew I had no right to be bitter. Him not putting down his guitar had gotten him here, on stage. The failure of our relationship was just as much my fault as it was his. 

Even knowing all that, I couldn’t help but wish that things had worked out differently. Deep down though, I knew we were never the sort of couple who was destined for a happily ever after. But god, I missed the days when I believed that we were. 

I missed Roman. 

Or, rather, the idea of him. I didn’t really miss _him_. If I was being honest with myself, I’d gotten over him less than a month after our breakup. Sure, I’d mourned the loss of our relationship for upwards of one year, but it was just to prove to myself that I wasn’t an asshole. That I’d loved him.

I think even before Roman broke up with me though, I’d realized that I’d stopped loving him. What I’d felt at the beginning of our relationship hadn’t existed for the last few months leading up to the end.

It was bittersweet, admitting to myself that I truly was over Roman. I’d spent so long ‘getting over’ him that realizing that whole charade hadn’t actually been real left an odd sort of void in my chest. It made the song hurt even more, the song he’d never had produced because it probably hurt him too much to think about, and certainly too much to be able to perform it. 

I hoped that him singing it for me again now was helping him realize that we were never meant to be. I didn’t want him to become more heartbroken because of this. 

I didn’t think he would be, though. If the peaceful smile on his face and closed eyes were anything to go off of, he’d accepted the end of our relationship just as I had.

_“Hey moon, please forget to fall down_  
_Hey moon, don’t you go down_  
_You are at the top of my lungs_  
_Drawn to the ones who never yawn.”_

Amidst the joyfully surprised cheers, Roman met my eyes again. He smiled, and I saw real happiness there. I smiled back and hoped he saw the same. Under the spotlight, I watched as a single, glistening tear made its way down his cheek. I felt my throat close up and a few tears spill over my own cheeks. 

“I love you,” I saw him mouth, partially to the crowd, but mostly to me. He was gazing right into my eyes, after all.

“I love you,” I mouthed back.

“Goodbye.” I think we both said the word under our breaths at the same time, a mutual agreement that we’d spend the rest of our lives apart. 

I loved Roman, and I knew he loved me, but I also knew that we’d both moved on. What we’d had? That was from a different time in both of our lives. While it _had_ been perfect, it wasn’t anymore. It was just… broken. 

Though it was odd, I didn’t miss it anymore.

_For diamonds do appear to be  
Just like broken glass to me._

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway I adore comments and stuff so those are always nice-
> 
> (Twitter/Tumblr: @tearxofink)


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